


Songs for Ghosts

by winnix



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, we get it u took apush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnix/pseuds/winnix
Summary: “I always believed in ghosts,” Ryan shrugged, trying for a smile, “just didn’t expect you to be one.” Shane rolled his eyes, collapsing back onto the bed.“I’m not a ghost,” Shane muttered, well-aware of how stupid he sounded.Shane dies, but not really.





	1. Chapter One

The dust storm could be seen hours before it actually hit. All his neighbors had left already. In a morbid way, Shane appreciated the quiet. 

It was like a Goliath, Shane mused, watching the massive and slow-moving cloud creep over the horizon. There was no use trying to escape it, not with the piece of shit wagon that he had. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of dying somewhere stranded between Texas and California, nameless and bleached in the desert. Where was the bravery in that?

A thin line of dust began to accumulate on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. Goliath thundered closer. Shane put on a record and went out on the porch to drink. 

It was larger from the porch. All around him, a thick silence settled, as if the land itself was holding its breath in anticipation. At least he’d given his horses to Dave Whitman before he left. He’d feel awfully guilty for putting those innocent beasts through this. 

The record skipped inside the farmhouse. Shane took a sip of his whiskey and closed his eyes. At least he had plenty of time to think about his last words no one would hear. 

“Fuck you!” He shouted to the wind. He grinned. It did make him feel a bit better. 

Soon, the sun as all but blacked out by the approaching giant. It would be a rather painful way to go out, Shane mused. He finished his glass of whiskey and went inside for another. Might as well make it as pleasurable as possible. 

It hit while Shane was still inside. His windows rattled and he grinned, abandoning his glass and sipping right from the bottle. He turned up the phonograph and laughed. What a story. Too bad no one would hear it. 

The windows gave another mighty shake before Shane woke up in bed, forehead damp with sweat. His chest gave a heave, and then another. No dust entered his lungs. No house shook to the ground. He was alive and more importantly, not on a farm. He was in his apartment because of course, he was. Shane shook his head, reorienting himself in the present. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a record still spun. 

 

It had been Ryan’s idea to go to another ghost town. 

“Are you sure the viewers won’t get tired of us just, you know, standing in the middle of a desert shouting at nothing?” Shane joked on the plane. Ryan rolled his eyes, but Shane still caught his smile. 

“It’s cool, I promise,” Ryan reassured, doing his best to ignore Shane’s pestering. “Besides, I think you’ll love Texas.” 

“Why is that?” Shane asked. 

“Everything’s bigger there,” Ryan smirked. “I’m sure they’ll all have heads just like you.” 

“Very funny,” Shane muttered, but Ryan still caught his grin. 

The checked into a shit motel, not because Buzzfeed couldn't afford better, but because it was the only place that was actually close by to the ghost town. Shane stared out the window of his room and watched the motel’s VACANCY sign flicker in the desert heat. 

“Well, this place is fundamentally creepy, I’ll give you that much.” Shane turned to Ryan, who was currently organizing their equipment on the chair by the bed. Ryan looked at him. 

“We haven’t even gotten to the haunted sight yet.” He said. 

“I know,” Shane replied. Ryan laughed, the kind of laugh he seemed to reserve for Shane alone. The really big kind, that made his whole face light up. Shane grinned and looked out the window again, pretending not to keep an eye on Ryan’s reflection in the glass. The sky was just beginning to dip into evening, sending colors spilling across the vast desert horizon. Beyond the large neon cowboy hat that served as a sign for the motel, night crept up slowly. 

“We should get going soon,” Ryan piped up from behind him, finally hoisting his equipment bag onto his shoulder, “it’s almost dark.” 

“Yeah,” Shane said, unable for a moment to look away from the desert outside, “let’s go.”

 

It took about half an hour to get to the actual ghost town. Tucked back in the desert, it wasn’t exactly preserved like some of the sights they had visited. Most of the houses were barely empty frames and foundations. A huge silo with large plates of metal peeling off of the side loomed over the small town, like some sort of strange god. Shane stared up at it curiously while the crew set up around him. 

“This whole place was deserted during the Dust Bowl,” Ryan supplied helpfully next to him.

“Hm. That must be why there’s so much dust.” Shane said, feigning seriousness. Ryan let out a wheeze of laughter, shoving Shane lightly with his shoulder before returning to help the crew. Usually, Shane wasn’t affected by the places they visited for the show. Not like Ryan was, at least. He never got those feelings of being unsettled like Ryan always said he did. But here…well, Shane couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something felt off. 

The intro for the episode went off without a hitch. The two of them sat side by side in folding chairs while Ryan explained how the ghost town had become deserted. Apparently, it was right in the impact zone for a massive cloud of dust that had ended up destroying most of the farm settlement. Everyone had left the town, Ryan said, except one farmer, who stayed and died in his home. Shane had poked fun at this, of course. Who dies because it’s too dusty?

Ryan led him and the camera team around the town, stopping every so often to turn on the spirit box (much to Shane’s chagrin) or to explain some vague historical fact about the site. It wasn’t until they got to a large, white farmhouse that Ryan got that familiar look of terror on his face. Shane grinned. 

“Let me guess,” he began, stepping onto the porch of the half-decayed home, “this is where that farmer died.” Ryan nodded mutely, giving Shane a practiced glare. Once inside, they did their usual walk through the house. 

By the time they got to the kitchen, Shane knew something was off. The rest of the crew had peeled off and were waiting outside for the rest of the tour to wrap up. 

“I’m gonna turn on the spirit box, ok?” Ryan said, more to the supposed ghosts than to Shane. Shane could barely hear him, anyhow. Something was crowding his hearing. Funnily enough, it sounded like music. 

“If there are any spirits here please let us know,” Ryan said over the din of the spirit box. Shane’s mouth went dry. The air tasted the dust. A moment passed before Ryan looked at him. “Shit, Shane, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Shane reassured. He felt like he was shouting. The spirit box, the wind, the music. It was all too much. 

“Dude, you don’t look fine,” Ryan said, moving to turn off the spirit box. 

“Ryan, shut up,” Shane muttered. Faintly, Shane heard the spirit box skip. It sounded like a voice. Ryan stared at him, eyes like saucers. 

“Did you hear that?” Ryan asked. 

“Turn that thing off.” Shane insisted. The spirit box skipped in unison. Ryan turned to it, expression torn between fascination and terror. 

“Shane,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “that sounded just like you.”

“I know,” Shane said, and he could hear it now, the spirit box crackling in sync. Ryan looked as if he might faint, “that’s cause I think it is.” 

 

They wrapped up the shoot without much explanation to the crew after that. Ryan mutters something about getting too scared, sorry guys, it was really creepy in there. TJ just shrugs and packs up. It’s not until they’re back in Shane’s motel room that Ryan really begins to freak out. 

“What the hell was that, dude?” He demanded the second the door had slammed closed. 

“I don’t know!” Shane threw his hands up defensively. “The spirit box must’ve broken or something.”

“We both know it didn’t,” Ryan said, stare intent and unwavering. Shane looked at him, mind still cloudy and confused. He wished he could offer some explanation. He wished he could get Ryan to stop looking so scared. 

“Look, man, I just don't have an explanation for it right now.” 

“We should go back,” Ryan said, determination heavy on his features. 

“We just finished the shoot, I’m not dragging the whole crew back out there.” Shane insisted. 

“Not with the crew,” Ryan said, “just us.” 

“No.” Shane stood up from his bed, seriously hoping Ryan wouldn’t push it anymore. 

“Why?” Ryan, of course, pushed. 

“Because I think I died there!” Shane finally said, tone hot. Ryan looked at him, something beyond terror on his face. It looked more like understanding. 

“Shane,” he spoke, and his voice was so quiet it was almost worse than the yelling, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been having these fucking dreams in that exact house, and lately they’ve been starting to feel a lot less like dreams,” Shane explained, trying somehow to make it all sound rational. “I keep on dying. Every night. In that farmhouse. It’s like…”

“A memory.” Ryan supplied, stepping away from the door and into Shane’s space. “You died on Black Sunday. You were the farmer.”

“How the hell are you so calm about this?” Shane threw up his hands in frustration, hating the way their roles has apparently revered. 

“I always believed in ghosts,” Ryan shrugged, trying for a smile, “just didn’t expect you to be one.” Shane rolled his eyes, collapsing back onto the bed. 

“I’m not a ghost,” Shane muttered, well-aware of how stupid he sounded. Ryan grinned, settling on the bed next to him. The neon from the motel sign illuminated his face in a strange array of technicolor, like a drawing in a comic book. Tentatively, Ryan reached out a hand and pressed it against Shane’s chest, right above his heart. Shane held his breath. 

“Yeah, you don’t feel like a ghost.” Ryan decided. Shane rolled his eyes, swatting his hand away. Ryan smirked. 

“This is the fucking worst.” Shane decided resolutely. “First, I become a ghost-hunter. Now, this.” He gestured vaguely at himself. 

“Do you remember anything else?” Ryan asked after a moment, all humor gone from his tone. 

“I remember the dust,” Shane recalled. “I think I was drunk.” This made Ryan laugh. Shane’s chest instantly felt lighter. 

“That sounds like you.” He chuckled softly. 

“There was also music,” Shane recalled, wondering if it was stupid to close his eyes to try to bring the images to the front of his mind, “some really old shit on a record player.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t leave your farm,” Ryan said, marveling at Shane just like he did anytime Shane taunted a supposed demon. 

“You seem surprisingly on board with this whole ‘my friend died before’ thing,” Shane said.

“What can I say,” Ryan shrugged, “I’m the believer, remember?” A silence settled between them, strangely comfortable considering the revelation that had just occurred. Every time Shane tried to think about it, though, his head just felt weighed down and hot. So, he suggested they go to bed. 

“You don’t want to go back?” Ryan asked. 

“No, I don’t think so.” Shane shook his head. Ryan nodded, rising from the bed slowly. It was like he was walking in a haunted house. In a way, Shane supposed he was. 

“We can talk more, in the morning, if you want,” Ryan said, his expression so earnest it made something in Shane’s stomach hitch.

“Yeah, sure.” He said, and for a moment, he wanted to ask Ryan to stay. He didn’t, of course. He still had some dignity to preserve. 

“Don’t go disappearing on me, big guy.” Ryan smiled one last time before ducking out the door. Shane heard his footsteps retreating down the sidewalk, back towards his own room. Head still swimming, Shane collapsed back onto his uncomfortable motel bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. 

 

The battlefield smelled like decay. Shane could feel his heartbeat in his throat, thick with a type of fear he’d never known. Behind him, a cannon fired, shooting earth and rock around him like a firework. 

“Get the fuck down!” A gruff voice called out next to him. Shane obeyed without a second thought. He shot down onto his stomach, crawling his way across the field. He could feel the blood seeping into his uniform. He just had to make it to the tree line, he kept on reassuring himself. Make it to the tree line, and he was safe. 

A body collapsed like a rag doll in front of him. He kept crawling, musket secured firmly on his back. Second away, inches. 

His mistake was looking back. 

Johnny was a young kid, and he’d been in the battalion only a few months. He had a mother back home in New Jersey. Shane remembered looking at his family picture a few nights ago at their campsite. A mother, and two younger brothers. He looked out for them, Johnny told him by the fire. They were everything to him. 

Before Shane could doubt himself, he was off his stomach and running back towards Johnny, frozen in shock. It was a miracle he hadn’t been taken down yet.

“Let’s go, son!” Shane shouted over the unrelenting gunfire. Johnny looked at him, eyes wide with fear. Something in Shane’s gut knew that look. He grabbed Johnny, supporting his weight, and began lugging him back towards the tree line. 

The bullet nabbed him just above the hip. Shane felt his blood, hot and sticky, begin to run down his leg. 

“Damnit.” He swore. Johnny gaped at him. “Run, idiot!” He shouted, and that was apparently all the kid needed because he was off towards the trees like a bolt. Shane staggered and fell. It hurt like hell, that was for sure. But it was a better way to go out than some, he supposed. He’d heard of a fella down in Georgia who’d bled out for days, just lying there on the field among the dead. At least this would be fast, Shane reasoned. His vision swirled. Faintly, in the distance, he could hear a drum. They were winning. Shane smirked. Not a bad way to go at all. 

By the time the other bullet hit his back, he was already gone. 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Ryan woke up to a firm banging on his door. His first thought was, of course, a demon. His second more rational thought was Shane. Blearily, he got out of bed, snatching up his glasses from his bedside table. 

“Dude, it’s three in the morning.” He said, shoving on his glasses and blinking Shane into focus. Shane apparently had taken that as an invitation to enter Ryan’s motel room. 

“I died again.” This woke Ryan up. He turned around to look at Shane. 

“Are you ok?” He asked, unsure. Shane nodded. 

“I just mean, I had another dream. Like the one before.” Shane explained, settling uncertainty onto Ryan’s bed. 

“So, you aren't the farmer?” Ryan asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Shane said, expression persistently unreadable. “Or at least, if I was, I was only him when he died.”

“So, where did you die this time?” Ryan asked, rubbing a hand over his face, trying desperately to understand what was happening. 

“I think it was Gettysburg. At least, that’s what it looked like.”

“You died in the Civil War?” Ryan asked. Shane nodded. 

“Fighting for the right side, don’t worry.” He reassured drily. Ryan chuckled. Shane looked at him for a moment, expression bemused, before running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up.” 

“No, dude, I’m glad you did,” Ryan reassured, “I mean, I’m not sure exactly how I can help, but I want to try.” 

“There might be nothing to help.” Shane cocked a shoulder indifferently. “I mean, in the end, they’re just dreams.”

“They sound more like memories.” Ryan offered. Shane looked at him, then behind him, out the window to the parking lot. He felt very centered in himself, despite his increasing confusion. He didn’t feel like he’d been anyone else. “Do you think,” Ryan began again, “you might be seeing someone else’s memories? Someone who died?”

“A ghost, you mean?” Shane asked, catching Ryan’s eyes with a smirk. 

“A spirit, if we wanna be more general.” As much as Ryan wanted proof of some sort of supernatural occurrence on the show, he really didn’t want to push Shane to believe in something he didn’t. Especially when it seemed so personal. 

“As ridiculous as it sounds,” Shane prefaced, “I think you might be right.”

“Well,” Ryan began, settling back on his bed beside Shane, “we should go to Gettysburg.”

“What?” Shane asked. 

“I mean, going to the farmhouse got rid of that dream,” Ryan explained. “Maybe you just need to, I don’t know, connect with the people who died.”

“Gettysburg.” Shane nodded. “Ok.” Ryan grinned. “I still don’t believe in ghosts, though.”

“Of course not.” Ryan placated, expression fond. 

“And I’m not using the fucking spirit box.” Shane insisted. Ryan laughed, worry disappearing from his face. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He said softly, laughter dying down. A 16-wheeler thundered by on the interstate, briefly sending a shaft of light into the small bedroom. Ryan’s hand twitched slightly as if he wanted to reach out. Shane realized he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking. 

“I should try to get some more sleep,” Shane muttered. 

“Alright.” Ryan nodded watching as Shane rose from the bed and trudged his way back to the door. Shane glanced back at him briefly. 

“Thanks, man.” He muttered. Ryan rolled his eyes, endeared by Shane’s strange attempt at genuine gratitude. 

“Go to sleep, Madej.” 

Ryan lay awake for a while after Shane left, counting the cracks in the ceiling. He wondered what the difference was between feeling death and experiencing it. He wondered if it mattered.

 

 

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Buzzfeed to let them go to Gettysburg for the season finale. The trip itself only took about a week of organization. His first dream, the one in the desert, had lasted for months before it went away, so Shane reassured Ryan he could take a week of this one. Ryan still checks in on him every morning, all concerned and motherly. Shane shakes him off. The dream doesn’t change. It’s always the same battle, the same death, the same drums.

“Are you feeling alright?” Ryan asks him on the plane to Pennsylvania. 

“I’m fine,” he assured, hoping Ryan didn’t notice the weariness in his voice, “stop worrying.”

They got to Gettysburg around dusk. Of all the places they had visited, this one threw Shane off the most, which was strange considering it was just a large open field. But he knew what it looked like when it was covered in bodies, half soaking with blood. That image was hard to get out of his head. Ryan watched him carefully, only half-listening to what TJ was saying as he set up the cameras. Shane looked tired. Of course, he’d never mention it, but Ryan had known him long enough to know when something was off. Right now, staring out at that vacant field, Shane looked tired and somehow, older. They shot the intro without much of a problem. Shane seemed fine, but Ryan couldn’t help but wonder if the camera picked up on all the times he glanced over at him. He’d have to edit that out later. 

Ryan was grateful when the crew didn’t question why they wanted to finish the shoot alone. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary, so they went without hesitation, leaving Shane and Ryan alone, standing a few feet from the tree line. Shane had resolutely avoided that area since the shoot had begun. Ryan was beginning to figure out why. 

“Ready?” Ryan murmured, flashlight clutched tight near his chest. Shane just nodded, expression vacant, just like it had been at the farm. 

Shane could already feel his senses dampening. Everything smelled like gore, just like it had in the dream. Every so often, he’d get this weird sense, like something was moving by his shoulder. Ryan would’ve thought it felt like a ghost. Shane knew it was just muscle memory. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Shane replied. They’d turned off their cameras and sound. Ryan figured if anyone bothered to ask where the end of the shoot had gone, he’d lie and say the batteries died. No one needed to see this. 

The first few steps weren’t too bad. Ryan’s flashlight beam illuminated their way. It was so quiet, Shane wanted to crack a joke just to make the silence dissipate. Usually, Ryan was either calling out to spirits, screaming, or telling Shane to shut up. This was the quietest Shane had ever seen him. 

Ten paces closer to the tree, and Shane felt something hit him, just above the hip. He staggered. 

“Shane!” Ryan had him by the shoulders before Shane could speak. For such a small guy, he was pretty strong, easily supporting Shane’s weight. 

“I’m ok,” Shane assured. It wasn’t pain, exactly. Just the memory of it, like a dull ache. “Let’s keep going.”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was walking towards, but he had a feeling he’d know when he found it. 

“We’re getting closer.” Shane murmured. The sounds were growing more vivid now. A cannon blast, muted like it was fired through cotton. A distant shout, the patter of gunfire. Drumming.

Shane felt his knees give out from under him. The other bullet, the one in his back. This was hurt more. _Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum._

“Shit,” he heard Ryan exclaim, immediately bending down to Shane’s level. _Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum_ , “Shane can you hear me?”

Shane tried to speak, tried to reassure Ryan he was alright, but nothing came out. He could see Ryan, solid and real in front of him, but nothing blurred at the corner of his eyes. The war was fighting to get through. _Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum. Ba-Dum._

“Ryan,” he finally managed to say, but it wasn’t his voice that spoke. It sounded unfamiliar. The man in the dream, Shane realized. He was speaking through him. Shane opened his mouth to speak again, but it was too late. His vision blurred and spotted, and everything went black. 

 

 

When he came to, he was staring up at the face of a terrified-looking Ryan. He looked, Shane thought with a smirk, like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Holy shit, Shane,” Ryan swore, immediately crouching down to Shane’s level again. Shane pushed himself onto his elbows, “are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Shane assured, and it was his voice that he spoke with this time, “I think it worked.”

“It worked?” Ryan demanded. “Dude, you were passed out cold for over a minute!”  
“Sorry for the fight, Bergara.” Shane tried to stand but faltered. Ryan ushered him back down, hands firm on his shoulders. They must have looked ridiculous, kneeling in the middle of that battlefield.

“You can’t keep doing this,’ Ryan murmured. “It’s hurting you.”

“I’m fine.” Shane insisted. 

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Ryan laughed, near hysterical. “Shane, something is wrong. We need help.”

“All I need is sleep, Ryan,” Shane said, all of a sudden keenly aware of the exhaustion weighing down his shoulders. Ryan hesitated, concern evident. 

“Ok,” He conceded. “Tonight we sleep. Tomorrow we get help.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Shane muttered, accepting Ryan’s help standing up. 

 

 

By the time they got back to the hotel, Shane’s head had cleared and he couldn’t help but feel a bit ridiculous for making Ryan worry so much. For his part, Ryan hadn’t stopped keeping some sort of physical contact with Shane since the battlefield. On the way to the car, he supported him with a firm arm around his waist. In the car, he kept a hand awkwardly on Shane’s shoulder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Shane said as Ryan pulled back onto the road.

“Shut up.” Ryan deadpanned. On the way back to their rooms, Shane had refused to be supported, so Ryan just kept a hand protectively on Shane’s back. Shane, despite his best intentions, didn’t complain. He appreciated the comfort. 

“I’m staying here tonight,” Ryan muttered once they were in Shane’s hotel room. 

“You are?” Shane asked. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Frankly, no,” Ryan said, collapsing in the chair by the room’s desk. Shane just shrugged and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. By the time he had crawled into bed, Ryan was still sitting in the desk chair. Now he looked like he was the one who would faint. Shane rolled his eyes. 

“Dude, just come here.” He opened the covers and gestured to the free side. Ryan looked at him, confused. “You look exhausted, and it’s not like we’ve shared before.”

“Ok,” Ryan finally stood up from the chair, shedding his shoes and jacket. Hesitantly, he crawled into bed beside him, careful to keep to his own side. Shane flicked off the lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness. 

“Oh shit.” Shane murmured after a moment. 

“What?” Ryan shot up immediately. 

“We didn’t check this Day’s Inn for ghosts.” Shane sighed. Ryan hit him with a pillow. Shane supposed he deserved that. 

“Go to sleep, dickhead.” Ryan turned away from Shane again, but Shane could still tell he was smiling. A few minutes passed. Shane tried to even out his breathing, but something was stopping him from sleep. He heard a shuffle beside him as Ryan turned to face him. 

“Do you think you’ll have another dream?” He asked. Shane’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to Ryan’s face, all of a sudden very close to his own. 

“Probably.” He realized as he said it. He’d probably have another dream, and even though he knew they weren’t real, he was getting pretty tired of dying. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Ryan asked, soft and earnest. 

“Wake me up if I start screaming?” Shane suggested. Ryan smirked. 

“Will do.” He assured, and this time, he didn’t turn away. By the time Ryan had drifted off, Shane let himself fall too. 

 

 

Shane gave a violent heave, chest rising under his white cotton shirt. A nurse busied herself next to him, but he knew she was just trying to make herself feel useful. He was already a goner. 

Everything was blurred around the edges of his vision. The whole room seemed too bright, too painful to look at. He gave another heave.

“I can bleed you again if you wish,” the nurse suggested. Shane shook his head, unable to speak. The bleeding wouldn’t do him any good, it would just make his last moment unpleasant. Or more unpleasant than they already were. 

His whole body ached. He’d wanted to die at home, but the doctor had insisted he move to a sick house for better treatment. Better treatment his ass. He still dying, but now he was more uncomfortable. 

At some point, the nurse had disappeared, likely to help another patient. Shane was grateful for that. He wanted to be alone. He coughed into the basin next to him, wishing he had a handkerchief with him to at least wipe the blood from his mouth. A few more minutes, he reasoned. He wished it wasn't taking so damn long. 

Outside, in the distance, church bells tolled. He was glad they’d put him by the window. At least then he could look out at the city. It took all his strength to rise slightly, just enough to glance outside. The streets were so quiet, it made his heart ache for a few years ago when the Congress had first met and no one had been able to shut up about it. He thought he’d never miss that year, unbearably hot and crowded. But now, he ached for the same sort of noise. 

The bells gave another chime. Shane collapsed back onto the cot. He hadn’t thought about what it would mean to die. All great men died, he reassured himself, though he was nothing special in this time of heroes. He just wanted the pain to end, he realized. He didn’t much care where he went afterward, just wanted to go somewhere else. 

On the last chime, he was ready to go. Shane closed his eyes. 

 

When he opened them, Ryan was hovering over him, looking stricken. 

“Shane,” he breathed out a sigh of relief, “you weren’t responding.”

“Philadelphia,” was all Shane could think to say. His mouth was still tacky with the memory of blood. “We have to go to Philadelphia.”


	3. Chapter Three

Ryan had packed up the car without argument. In fact, he was so on board with the spontaneous road trip to Philadelphia that Shane started to argue with himself. 

“Ryan, wait, this was a stupid idea,” he insisted, following Ryan through his room while he gathered his stuff, “we have to get back to work.”

“This is more important.” Ryan insisted. 

“More important than the show?” Shane asked, stopping Ryan with a firm hand to the chest. Ryan looked up at him like he was crazy. 

“Of course, idiot.” He said, as if it was ridiculous Shane assumed anything mattered more than his weird dreams. “Now, get your stuff. I want to leave before anyone else wakes up.” 

Shane followed without protest after that. It had been his idea, however stupid, so he might as well go along with it. But, Shane still insisted on driving, at least for a bit. It was the least he could do. 

“I think,” Ryan began, somewhere about an hour later, “there’s somewhere we should stop.” Dawn had already crept over the horizon, bathing everything in a weak, milky light. The whole world looked like a dream. It made Shane squirm. 

“Sure,” he agreed, assuming Ryan just wanted to stop for food or gas or something. Ryan had taken over the wheel less than an hour ago at some rest stop, so Shane dozed off while Ryan took the next exit. 

Shane didn’t expect to wake up at some shitty, dilapidated looking house across the street from a combination KFC-Taco Bell. 

“Where are we?” Shane murmured as Ryan parked in front of the home. It was out of place, standing on a strip of interstate surrounded by fast food places and Motel 8s. 

“Don’t freak out,” Ryan began, hands already raised defensively, “but I think we should talk to a psychic.” Shane got the sudden, powerful urge to throw himself through the windshield. 

“No.” He responded.

“Please, Shane,” Ryan implored, “I know it’s stupid and you hate it but…I want to help. And this is the only way I could think of.” Shane glanced back up at the house, where he now noticed the small, neon signs stating PSYCHIC MEDIUM - $15 A SESSION. He looked back at Ryan, who was staring at him with such determination Shane could feel his own resolve dissolving. 

“Fine.” He conceded. Ryan beamed at him, throwing his arms around his neck in a swift, awkward hug. Before Shane could say anything more, Ryan was already out the door and heading towards the house. Begrudgingly, Shane followed. 

When Ryan tried the door, it was unlocked. Cautiously, he walked inside, Shane close behind. They entered into a long hallway, dimly lit and smelling strongly of incense. Every surface seemed to be crowded with something. Decorative rugs hid the floor, posters and parchment littered the walls, and candles crowded every table Shane could see. 

“You must be Ryan.” A woman rounded into the hallway, expression annoyingly knowing. 

“You seriously called ahead?” Shane asked. Ryan shrugged. 

“And you must be Shane.” The woman approached the pair, allowing Shane to get a better look at her. She wore her long hair up in a messy bun perched atop her head like a nest. Around her neck hung what looked like five different pendants, all clanking together when she moved. Her hands, similarly, looked weighed down with rings. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Esmeralda.” Ryan greeted, extending his hand. The woman shook it with a grin. 

“Please, call me Essie. Ms. Esmeralda is my ridiculous stage-name,” she looked at Ryan for a moment, then to Shane, “but I know you boys are the real deal. Come in.” She gestured down the hall to what appeared to be a small sitting room. Shane trailed after Ryan, part of him still wishing he hadn’t agreed to this. 

“Sit down,” Essie said, gesturing to two large chairs opposite a table. The sitting room was even darker than the hallway, illuminated only by a small skylight and a smattering of candles on the mantel. Shane and Ryan sat down, watching Essie move towards the far corner of the room where an electric kettle had been boiling. “Tea?” She offered. 

“Sure,” Ryan said. 

“No thanks,” Shane said at the same time. She looked at them, obviously amused. After a moment, she returned to the table with two mugs, handing one to Ryan. She sat opposite the two of them, in an old blue velvet chair. So dramatic, Shane thought to himself with mild disdain. 

“So, what can I do for you boys?” She asked, taking a sip from her mug. Ryan glanced at Shane, expecting him to begin. Shane looked back and cocked an eyebrow. 

“Well, uh,” Ryan started, “my friend here has been having dreams lately. Really vivid ones, where he keeps dying.” Essie nodded, placing her mug on the already crowded table. 

“They’re just dreams.” Shane assuredly drily. Essie turned her gaze to him. Her eyes, Shane realized, were so blue they were almost white. 

“Rarely is anything just something.” She said cryptically. Shane looked at Ryan in exasperation. “Anything besides the dream?”

“No,” Shane said. 

“Yes,” Ryan said at the same time. He glared at Shane. “He fainted when we went to the place in one of the dreams.”

“Where was this?” Essie asked, eyes still fixed on Shane. 

“Gettysburg.” Shane murmured. 

“And before that, we went to a farm in Texas,” Ryan added. Essie now shifted her piercing gaze to Ryan. Ryan instantly tensed up. 

“You two are paranormal investigators, is that true?” Essie asked. Ryan nodded. Shane made a noncommittal noise. She chuckled and rose from her chair. Walking around the table, she approached Shane. “Do I have permission to touch your forehead?” She asked. Shane rolled his eyes. 

“Sure.” He muttered, still incredulous he was actually going through with this. Ryan watched him attentively. Carefully, Essie placed a hand on his forehead, closing her eyes in concentration. A strange sense of unease settled over Shane. 

“I see.” She murmured after a moment and removed her hand from Shane’s head. She moved back to her chair before speaking again. “I think I know the cause of all this, though I’m afraid I cannot supply a cure.”

“What’s the cause?” Ryan asked eagerly. 

“Well, it’s no wonder you’re having these visions,” Essie explained, taking another sip of her tea, “you go to all these death-soaked places, boys, something is bound to stick on you like sap. The dead can smell it, simple as that.” Her eyes glistened at Shane over the brim of her mug. “They know you know their kind.” 

“You mean,” Shane began, incredulous, “going to all these so-called haunted places has…made dead people notice me?” Essie nodded. 

“Something like that.” She began. “Back in the day, people like you were called Spiritualists. People who the dead spoke through, more or less. The dead would latch onto these people and use them as their voices.” She set down her mug over a pack of tarot cards. “It seems the dead are trying to speak through you, Shane. Or at least to you.”

“How do we get them to stop?” Ryan asked tentatively. 

“Frankly, there is no guaranteed cure,” Essie admitted. “But, the dead will not cling for long. They never do.”

“So, I’m just stuck with this?” Shane asked. Essie shook her head, a knowing smile returning to her face. 

“No, my dear. At least not for long. You may have to fight a bit more,” she, weirdly enough, turned her gaze to Ryan for a moment before shifting it back to Shane, “but you are more alive than dead.”

They left shortly after that. Ryan paid, Shane shook her hand and Essie waved them off with another knowing look. 

“Fuck,” Ryan swore, heading back towards the car. He hesitated before getting in. “Shane,” he began, “I’m sorry.

“What are you sorry about?” Shane asked. “I mean, sure, the psychic was a bit weird, but she was nice.”

“No, man, not that.” He sighed. “Your dreams. It’s all my fault.” 

“What do you mean?” Shane asked. 

“I mean, if I wasn’t a dumbass and didn’t drag you to all these haunted places, these dreams never would’ve started.” Ryan came to sit on the hood of the car, head falling into his hands. 

“Hey,” Shane began gently, coming to sit beside him on the hood, “I’m the one getting the freaky visions here. This is so not about you.” Ryan peaked out at him, the beginnings of a smile on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he was earnest, like always, “I should’ve never done this stupid show in the first place.”

“Dude, shut up,” Shane rolled his eyes, showing Ryan lightly with this shoulder, “I wouldn’t be doing this stupid show with you if I didn’t really want to.”

“Really?” Ryan asked, lowering his hands. 

“Yeah, idiot, really.” Shane laughed. “I like going to disgusting old hospitals and creepy houses and weird desert towns with you. As ridiculous as that sounds.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Ryan reassured, “or maybe it is, I don’t know. But I like it too.”

“Good,” Shane slapped his legs, standing up with determination, “then no more whining. I’m hungry.” 

 

They found a diner down the road, the sort of place that long-haul truckers stopped at. Shane ordered bacon and eggs, Ryan ordered pancakes. They both got coffee. A lot of coffee. 

“When did they start?” Ryan asked after the food came. “The dreams, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” Shane shrugged. “A few years ago. They’ve been getting worse lately.”

“How come you never told me?” Ryan’s voice was quiet. Shane took a sip of his third cup of shitty coffee.

“I didn’t think it was important,” Shane said, tone still casual. “They weren’t that bad. Just unpleasant.” 

“Still,” Ryan began, eyes glued to his food, “you can talk to me. Whenever you need to.”

“I know,” Shane assured, and he hoped Ryan realized how genuine he was. 

“Do you really think it’ll just go away?” Ryan asked, finally looking up at him. Shane sighed, desperately wanting to reassure his friend without telling a lie. Sure, he thought they’d end soon. He wasn’t sure he’d like the ending though. 

“I don’t know.” He finally said. Ryan seemed to accept this, though and went back to his food, expression still dark. 

“How does it feel?” Ryan asked after the waitress came and went with more refills of coffee. “Dying, I mean.” Shane could feel his throat dry up. 

“It depends.” He finally said, trying to ignore his rising discomfort. He took a bite of his toast. It felt like lead in his stomach. 

“Sorry.” Ryan murmured, picking up on Shane’s discomfort. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s ok.” Shane insisted. “It’s just…in the moment, when I’m dying, I guess I don’t realize it’s a dream. It feels real.”

“It’s not,” Ryan spoke with such conviction it surprised him. For a guy who believed in anything, he seemed pretty adamant about this. “You aren’t gonna die. I’m not gonna let you.”  
“What, are you gonna go all Inception on me? Enter my dreams?” Shane smirked. Ryan cracked a smile.

“No, but I’d figure something out.” Ryan took a bite of his pancake. “We’re a package deal, remember?”

“Yeah,” Shane smiled. “Package deal.” He took another sip of his coffee, grateful, at least, that he was the one experiencing the dreams and not Ryan. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he thought Ryan was in any danger. Something stupid, probably. 

When they got back to the car, Shane offered to drive. Ryan conceded, only because he could tell Shane wanted something else to think about. 

“Are you ready?” Ryan asked. 

“Yes.” Shane lied. 

 

They decided to get a hotel for the night. Both of them were still exhausted since their journey had started before dawn. It was still afternoon, but Shane didn’t exactly feel up to exploring the city. The second they crossed into Philadelphia, he’d begun to feel uneasy. Death, Shane realized. He was feeling the echoes of death. 

Shane didn’t mention it when Ryan got a room with just one bed. He figured it was cheaper. He did feel a bit foolish later, though, when he crawled into bed while it was still light out and Ryan laid down next to him without question. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Shane said, careful to remain flat on his back, not looking at Ryan. 

“I know,” Ryan shrugged, body slightly curved towards Shane, “I’m just tired. Not everything is about you, you know.” Shane laughed. 

“Sorry, I almost forgot.” 

The late afternoon light streamed in through the thin hotel curtain, turning Ryan to gold beside him. Ryan had already closed his eyes, but Shane couldn’t tell if he was pretending to sleep or not. Carefully, Shane reached his hand down and knotted their fingers together. If Ryan was pretending, he didn’t say anything. 

The dream happened the same. The blood, the bells, the eerie silence. But something, distant in the back of Shane’s unconscious mind, made him feel less alone. 


	4. Chapter Four

The whole morning was spent in more or less silence. They both knew they were waiting for something, but neither could decide what it was. 

“Do you know where we need to go?” Ryan asked quietly once they had checked out and were back in the car. 

“I think so.” Shane murmured, climbing in behind the wheel. Of course, the city looked completely different than it had in Shane’s dream. As stupid as it sounded, he just followed his own intuition. The closer he got, the deeper the uneasy settled in his gut. 

It took about half an hour to get to the small, brick building, stuck between a Rite Aid and a bagel shop. The building itself was abandoned, wooden plants blocking up the windows. 

“How fitting,” Shane muttered, parking the car out front. 

"Are you alright?" Ryan asked. 

"Yes," Shane responded, and hoped Ryan couldn't tell he was lying. 

Once on the sidewalk, Shane knew he was in the right place. Nausea hit all at once, almost bringing him to his knees. He coughed into his hands, once, twice and soon it dissolved into a fit. He glanced down at his hands once the fit as surpassed. Blood. 

“Jesus, Shane,” Ryan whispered, eyes wide. 

“I’m fine.” Shane insisted, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

“No, you aren’t!” Ryan exploded. “God, Shane, stop telling me you’re fine when I know you aren’t.”

“This really isn’t a good time,” Shane said through gritted teeth.

“When is a good time, then?” Ryan demanded. “When you’re dead?”

“Ryan, please,” Shane implored, unable to look at him, “I have to finish this.” There was a pause before he felt something in his grip. Ryan had grabbed onto his other hand. 

“Fine,” Ryan huffed, “but we’re doing this together.” Shane had never seen Ryan look like this before. It would’ve scared him if Ryan wasn’t on his side. 

Ryan didn’t let go as Shane made his way up the steps of the house. Surprisingly, when he tried the door, it was unlocked. Whatever was in the house, it had been waiting for him. 

“That’s lucky,” Ryan muttered next to him.  

“I don’t think it is,” Shane said drily. 

Inside, it got worse. Shane staggered slightly, forcing Ryan to shoulder some of his weight. It hadn’t been like this at Gettysburg, and certainly not at the farm. This time, the pain didn’t feel like a memory. It felt real. 

Shane pushed forward, deeper into the house, where he knew the staircase was. His muscles ached as he climbed the narrow staircase, aware that Ryan was only steps behind him. 

Once he saw the room, it all came back to him. The decay was all spread out, emerging in him like an electric shock. All at once, he was half-dead. 

“Ta-da,” he exclaimed weakly, his legs finally giving out at the top of the stairs. Ryan was kneeling in front of him in a second, holding his shoulders with shaking hands. “We made it.”

“Shane, your eyes.” Ryan murmured.

“You’ve never noticed how beautiful they are?” Shane suggested. 

“They’re yellow.” Ryan looked so sad, some part of Shane was distantly angry at himself for being the one to cause it. “We have to get you out of here.” 

“I think it’s a bit too late for that.” Shane tried for a grin. Shane knew what Essie had meant when she described a place as “death-soaked”. The room he was in now was so heavy with death, he felt it seeping into him like blood on a battlefield. He knew he was sick, that much was certain. But it ran deeper than the sickness in his dreams. Everything was blending together now. The dust, the drums, the ache in his gut. He was dying on loop. He couldn’t open his eyes. 

“Shane!” Shane could feel hands come up to cradle his face. He was slipping, succumbing to the disease, just like in his dream. Succumbing to every death, all at once. Briefly, he wondered how many times he’d died in his mind. He wondered if this one would stick. Something rattled behind him. Windows. 

Everything went quiet. 

 

Slowly, Shane opened his eyes. He was back on the farm, moments away from the dust cloud choking him where he stood. But this time, he wasn’t alone. Inexplicably, Ryan was there, in a place he didn’t belong, refusing to let go.

“Ryan?” Shane asked. No response. Ryan’s eyes scanned his face. He couldn’t hear him, Shane realized. He was trying to talk to him through a dream. 

“Shane, please, you have to wake up.” A thumb stroked his cheek. “Please.” Shane could feel the dust in his lungs, as present as Ryan’s hands on his face. 

“It isn’t real.” He heard Ryan say.

Shane skewered his eyes shut, desperate to will himself back to reality. 

The drums came next. Shane felt the earth beneath him shake with the force of cannon fire. His eyes stayed shut. This time, when the bullet hit his back, he didn’t let himself fall. 

“It isn’t real.” Shane echoed. The sickness was in him now, hot and sharp and blocking out all sounds of the receding war. It was all coming faster now. A crash, a knife, a heart attack. It didn’t matter. He was drowning in death. Memories he didn’t remember bringing a pain he hadn’t known. He kept his eyes shut. 

“C’mon man, you have to fight it.” Shane heard Ryan’s voice again, thick with fear. “Fuck these spirits. None of it is real. Not like you are." 

Shane had always been so good at not believing. He thought of all the ghosts he knew were just the wind. He thought of all the dumb houses filled with demons that didn’t exist. With a laugh, he thought of the stupid spirit box. It didn’t matter, Shane realized, whether it was real or not. Ryan was right. It wasn’t as real as him. It wasn’t as real as _them_.

 

When Shane came to, someone was shouting at him. And his knees really, really hurt. 

“Shane?” His shoulders were shaken. “Shane, please.”

Ryan, Shane realized, mind still groggy. The real Ryan. 

“I’m sorry," Shane croaked, senses finally returning to him, "did I just hear you say ghosts aren't real?" 

He cracked an eye open. Ryan gaped at him, cheeks still damp with tears. 

“Jesus Christ,” he threw his arms around Shane, chest shaking, “you fucking asshole.”

“Good to see you’re not dead, Shane,” Shane said in a weak imitation of Ryan’s voice. “Great to have my best friend back.” 

Ryan pulled back slightly, only so he could look Shane in the eye. 

“You’re alive.” He murmured in reverence. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Shane frowned with determination. Ryan laughed, breathless and so happy it made Shane’s heart skip. 

“Yeah, no way death could get rid of Shane Madej.” Ryan beamed. “And for the record, I think this whole experience proves ghosts conclusively.”

“This didn’t prove shit.” Shane insisted. “Except maybe that I’m the strongest human being in the entire world.”

“Maybe.” Ryan conceded. “But also the dumbest.”

“Well, we already knew that I’m an idiot.” Shane grinned. 

“Yeah, you are.” And Ryan was kissing him. Ryan was kissing him and it was the furthest from death Shane ever felt. 

“You alright, big guy?” Ryan asked once he had pulled away. 

“Yes,” Shane said, and this time, he wasn’t lying. 

 

The dreams stopped after that. Essie, it turned out, was right. The dead didn’t cling for long. 

Back at home, Ryan edited the season finale like nothing had changed. In a way, nothing had. Shane still didn’t believe, except when he did. Ryan still believed all the time, except when he didn’t. The break between seasons, however, was a welcome change. Shane knew he’d be ready when the time came, but for now, he appreciated avoiding the dead. 

Sometimes, in the morning, Ryan would turn over and frown at Shane.

“No dreams?” He’d asked. 

“No dreams.” Shane would always answer. Then, Ryan would lean over and kiss Shane, soft and certain and unmistakably _real_. In the end, Shane resolved, what else was real didn’t really matter, as long as this was. 


	5. Epilogue

“Action!” TJ called from the behind the camera. They had set up in the basement of the large, brick brewery to shoot the intro. Ryan already looked scared. Shane at least appreciated they came to a place with beer. 

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we’re here at the Moon River Brewery as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?” Ryan recited the usual episode intro with ease. Sparing a glance over at Shane he offered a small grin. Shane knew the camera was pointing at him, waiting for him to shake his head or roll his eyes. Instead, he leaned over and kissed Ryan. 

“Last time, sorry.” He called to TJ after he pulled away. Ryan just looked at him, bemused and smiling. The crew groaned. 

“You guys can’t keep doing this.” TJ insisted. 

“Yeah, Shane,” Ryan agreed with a smirk, “so unprofessional.”

“Sorry!” Shane threw his hands up defensively. “I won’t do it again.” 

“Ready?” TJ asked, soundingly a bit like he was talking to children. 

“Wait,” Ryan called. Shane could hear TJ’s palm hit his forehead. This time, it was Ryan who leaned over and kissed Shane, brief and chaste. “Now I’m ready.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all so much for the wonderful comments and kudos! now go listen to dearly departed by shakey graves


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